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He couldn't possibly admit to it, but this must be the closest he's ever been to Valhalla…
The truest travesty is admitting to enjoying this as much as he does, so he never does. Never admits that her hands are the only hands he every fully lets his guard down under. The only hands that know better than even his own how to make him melt, completely and utterly.
Amora has many skills: axe wielding, blacksmithing, singing… But, Snotlout's favorite has got to be this. The way her long fingers brush through his hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp. How she gently works out any knots or tangles that formed from the excessive amount of time spent under his helmet. It's a gentleness he rarely allows himself, never wanting to be seen by the others as weak.
It's just Mora, though. The truth never could be kept from her.
The water is warm as she gently cups it against his hairline, careful of it running down his face. She has a rag off to the side just in case it or any soap does, but she's never had to use it. Once the locks are thoroughly wetted, she breaks out the first step. Possibly his favorite in the process. A mix of soap and sea salt is crumbled in her wet hands. Rubbing them together, Amora suds them up jsut enough that the mixture will spread more easily through his hair.
A soft, appreciative groan slips past Snotlout's lips as her fingers work the rough paste against his scalp. The texture is rough, but pleasant. Any dead skin or oil easily comes away from his hairline down to the nape of his neck. No spot is left unscrubbed under Amora's skilled hands as a thick lather builds against the dark hair her fingers are buried in.
Satisfied, she rinses her hands of the remaining suds. She dips his head back just slightly to rinse the majority of his hair. Cupping her hand as before, she rinses away the remaining soap brimming his forehead. It's a task taken slowly and carefully. Annoying as he can be, she would not wish soap and salt in the eyes upon him.
The second step is simple, regular soap. Amora shifts her fingers through his hair once more, lithe fingers moving deftly against his scalp. They dig gently against the skin to build the shampoo's lather. The laugh she gives at his contented groan cannot be stopped, and only continues as he goes more limp against her lap and hands. Fingers dig at his temples, massaging the tender spots there before they trail lower to get behind his ears as well. He never was good about cleaning there, so she may as well take care of it while he's letting her.
Wet hands trail over his forehead, brushing any lingering suds back from his eyes. Despite her axe-calloused hands, the touch is soft. Welcome.
It wouldn't be a proper hair washing session with Snotlout is he didn't whine and complain while she nudges him to sit up. Before he can complain too much, however, the towel is tossed over his head. He gives an annoyed snort. His displeasure is quickly forgotten when her skilled hands grip his skull through the fabric, using it to work out the excess water from his hair. Pressing the towel up, she presses it against the back of his head and gently works the remaining water from the longest parts of his hair.
Amora drapes the dampened towel across his shoulders, letting it catch any water still dripping from his locks or trailing down his neck as she begins the final step. A rosemary and mint infused oil is smeared between her hands and worked into his hair. The mix softens the hair up even more, the smell pleasant against the wet air filling the room - she makes a note to crack a window later.
Her favorite extra step is to gently work a brush through his thick hair. Not everyone believes this step necessary before their hair is fully dried, but she finds it easier to work out any tangles like this. And the likelihood that Snotlout will brush his own hair before bed is low.
Sitting up on the bed, she sits him on the floor between her legs. He leans back against her thighs as she runs the soft bristles through. They feel nice, any muss from her constant tousling of his locks disappearing. And, with each pass, he grows more and more relaxed.
Tilting his head back once more, Amora leans down. Her lips brush between his brows as she whispers, "Don't fall asleep on me, now."
He'll be asleep soon after this is over, for certain. But, for now, he sits up straight, posture stiff, and face slowly burning red.